


WreckCon Rules

by GemmaRose



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No War, Breasts, Cervix Fucking, Face-Sitting, Light Dom/sub, Marathon Sex, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgy, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Size Kink, Spitroasting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Having a VIP badge at WreckCon comes with certain perks. Like a guaranteed seat in any panel he wants to attend, discounts at some of the vendor stalls, and oh yeah, a ticket to the Literal Orgy at the end of the day.
Relationships: First Aid/Wreckers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withersake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withersake/gifts).



> Please tell me if there's another tag you think I should add. My brain is fried.

WreckCon was, in a word, **intense**. First Aid had known to expect as much, the convention was somewhat infamous for the number of fights which broke out at it and he’d treated his fair share of patients from said fights. It was still a little bit overwhelming to be in the middle of it all, the conversations of thousands around him forming a dull roar that battered his audials incessantly. Unfamiliar frames brushed past him as he wound through the crowd, glad for once of his small stature as he made his way towards the shortest line he’d stand in all con.

“Badge?” a bored mech with a decal declaring him Con Security asked as he walked up to the low ropes and poles which sectioned the line off from the rest of the hall. First Aid handed the card over, his designation and customer number stamped into its matte surface, a scan bar printed across the bottom. The guard scanned it, and when the device in his hand flashed green he passed the badge back to First Aid. “Hope it’s worth the price of admission.” he said wryly, and First Aid smiled behind his mask as he was waved through to the waiting area.

“Me too.”

The other mechs already in line were... not quite what he’d expected. VIP badges were notoriously hard to get, only twenty five available for each day of the convention and costing... well, First Aid had saved up for a solid kilocycle and still had to skimp on fuel for a couple of hectocycles to make ends meet after buying his badge. He’d sort of expected to be the only working caste frame in the line, but aside from a trine of high-gloss seekers with truly impractical claws and extensive detailing, he saw mechs much like himself. Simple paint jobs, clearly self-applied detailings, uneven applications of what were probably their nicest polishes. Everyone wanted to look their best for the promised ‘personal night with the Wreckers themselves in an intimate setting’, which was just fancy wording to get around calling it what it really was.

“You seem nervous.” the mech he’d come to a stop next to remarked, and First Aid looked up to meet kind green optics. “First time at something like this?” he gestured vaguely at the line they stood in, and First Aid nodded.

“First time here at all.” he confessed, waving a hand out at the convention hall in general as he tried to get a read on the other VIP’s altmode. He could see transformation seams, but they didn’t match any pattern he was familiar with.

“Oh, mine too!” the mech beamed, and First Aid’s optic ridges rose on his face as he noticed the circle of soft light in the middle of the stranger’s chestplate, glowing through the fine fabric draped across his shoulders and chest. Precious few frame types had any kind of aperture directly to the spark, which narrowed it down considerably. Add in the green optics and odd seam placement...

“Is it your first time on Cybertron as well?” he asked, and the Gaean laughed.

“Is my accent that notable?”

“Oh, not at all!” First Aid assured him. “There just aren’t many altmodes here which have, uh, that.” he tapped his chest, and the Gaean nodded. They lapsed back into silence, more mechs filling in the line behind them, and First Aid startled when the mech next to him clicked his fingers.

“How rude of me, I haven’t introduced myself!” he extended a hand and flashed a dazzling smile. “I am Silkscreen Anthousai of Phytrodium Amytris. And you?”

“First Aid of Archon.” he shook Silkscreen’s hand with a friendly pulse of his field. “How did you hear about WreckCon?”

“Oh, the Wreckers are popular on Fae too.” Silkscreen faced forwards again, lips twitching as if at some joke First Aid was not privy to. “But it was a friend of a friend who encouraged me to spring for the VIP pass.”

First Aid nodded, and as they lapsed back into silence he couldn’t quite tear his optics from Silkscreen at his side. Gaeans were, well... fairly widely fetishised, both for their commonly visible sparks and the effect their uniquely organic-emulating altmodes had on their root modes. Namely, their curves, and Silkscreen was practically a walking poster mech for the Gaean stereotype. Under a coat of high-gloss polish his paint was largely a gentle white and soft pink, broken up by tasteful green and gold accents that only emphasised the distinctly organic-emulating swell of his hips and chestplates. First Aid preferred his mechs boxy and sturdy, but even he could admit that Silkscreen looked like a walking frag-fantasy.

“You look nice too.” Silkscreen’s voice startled him out of his thoughts, and First Aid flushed behind his mask, flickering shame and apology at Silkscreen as he looked away. The mech had surely had enough of being ogled since his arrival. “Much better than that mech up there.” Silkscreen inclined his helm shallowly at a bright yellow mech with similar kibble to Ratchet’s, probably a courier of some sort. He’d painted optic-searingly red stripes onto himself, the edges smudged and uneven, and First Aid cringed a little inside.

“That’s not a very high bar.” he muttered.

“ _Much_ better.” Silkscreen repeated, and First Aid chuckled, relaxing slightly.

“VIPs, please have your badges ready.” a mech called from the front of the line, and First Aid reached into his subspace to draw the metal card out again. His internal chronometer read six milicycles to the VIP Session starting time, which he supposed made sense. They’d want to have everyone in as soon as possible, so the Wreckers weren’t left waiting.

The room beyond the door, when First Aid was waved through, had been raised two steps up from the floor level of the rest of the hall. Soft instrumental music pumped through speakers in all corners, and the lights were dimmed to half, shining through warm-toned shades. The mechs who’d filed in before him were taking seats on padded benches, but what caught First Aid’s optics was the pit that the benches were arranged around. Round and padded and pillow-strewn, easily large enough to fit his berth at home twenty times over, it was undoubtedly the reason the floor in here had been raised. Most striking, though, were the frames already occupying said pit.

Whirl had Topspin straddling his lap, valve bared and grinding against one of the rotary’s heavy claws, optics dim and half-shuttered with pleasure. Roadbuster sprawled on his front, his shoulders and kibble blocking most of what he was doing to Rack’n’Ruin but not the faces they were making. And Twin Twist was settled against Impactor’s side, engine purring and the drills on his back spinning lazily as Impactor stroked his array.

Abruptly, First Aid realized his fans had kicked on. He was far from alone in that, though. Some mechs already had their panels open, flickers of charge dancing in their seams. Primus, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to last long at all, even just watching. Which he was certain was all he’d be doing, probably. Statistically speaking, only about half of the VIPs actually got to clang the Wreckers, and he wasn’t particularly optic-catching even in his best polish, there was no way he’d get picked to be in the pit for the main event.

The door shut just a milicycle before the session’s appointed start time, and Impactor reset his vocaliser loudly enough the other Wreckers all turned to him. At some signal they parted, any closed panels opening, and First Aid shivered in his seat as Impactor turned, optics passing over each of them in turn. “You all know what you signed up for, right?” he asked, voice deep enough it resonated in First Aid’s struts. “Right?” he repeated, and First Aid nodded quickly, along with the rest of the mechs on the benches.

“I’ll go back over the rules anyways.” Impactor held up his hand and lifted a finger. “First rule: recording is allowed, sharing is not.” First Aid double checked that his video recording program was set up properly, and his internal memory clear enough to handle a couple decicycles of high quality footage without crunching into long-term storage. “Second rule: no outside toys in the pit. Third rule: Your partner says stop, you stop. _Anyone_ says Pova, we all stop. Understood?”

First Aid nodded again, and there were a few scattered yesses from the others. Impactor nodded, crossing his arms with a small smile. “Alright, any questions before we get to picking partners?”

“Yeah, when can we start?” someone asked, and laughter rippled through the room.

“That’s up to Roadbuster.” Impactor uncrossed his arms to pat the largest of the Wreckers on the shoulder. “Take your picks, mech.”

Roadbuster rolled to his pedes, and First Aid’s vents stalled as the Wrecker turned in place, acid green visor scanning over everyone on the benches before he raised a hand and jabbed one thick finger at two mechs practically in each other’s laps. “You two.” he said, and the pair were falling over themselves to get into the pit, glomming onto Roadbuster’s sides with wide optics and eagerly flickering biolights. Twin Twist picked next, one of the gaudy seekers and a slender red mech who First Aid could only pin down as having a non-vehicular altmode before Rack’n’Ruin were up, picking two rotaries and-

“Lucky bastard!” he hissed, shouldering Silkscreen as the Gaean rose to his pedes. It was hardly a surprise, a mech looking like that getting chosen, but still he couldn’t help but be a little jealous as he watched Silkscreen descend into the pit and settle at Rack’n’Ruin’s pedes. Whirl chose next, a small pale mech and their orange Gaean friend, and Topspin selected the other two gaudy seekers. First Aid crossed his fingers, internal temperature climbing as his vents stalled again. Impactor looked over those of them who remained, and First Aid’s spark fairly stopped in its rotation when that strong golden hand lifted in his direction.

“You.” Impactor said, finger pointed directly at the badge on First Aid’s chest that denoted which hospital he worked for.

He was on his pedes before he fully registered what he was doing, processor spinning in time with his pounding fuel pump as he descended into the pit. Impactor was somehow bigger in person, his field steady and unwavering, his sheer _presence_ enough to make First Aid’s cooling fans kick up a notch, spike throbbing where it pressed against the inside of his modesty panels. Primus, when had that happened? Would it be weird if he popped his panels now, or-

“Cybertron to Medic.” Impactor’s hand waved in front of his face, and First Aid squeaked as he realized Impactor had already sat down, a violently green mech riding his fingers who First Aid hadn’t even noticed getting chosen. “Mouth or valve?” he gestured at his array, bared and- oh _Primus_ his spike was glorious, striped with near-black purple and optic-searing yellow with rings of biolights studded along its length. First Aid’s valve calipers clenched down on nothing at the sight of it, lubricant trickling down his thighs.

“I- uh.” his vents hitched, and he tore his optics from Impactor’s spike to meet the mech’s optics. “I’ll have to work my way up to taking your spike properly, so I guess mouth to start.”

“Determined, huh?” Impactor grinned, spreading his legs invitingly as he leaned back on his free arm. “I like that in a mech.”

First Aid beamed behind his mask, dropping to his knees and shuffling closer before he let it snap back. “I promise I’ll make this good for you, Sir.”

“ _Sir?_ ” Impactor’s smile widened, field pulsing incredulous. First Aid looked down at the spike before him, the low moans of the mech currently fragging himself on Impactor’s fingers shivering over his plating. He vented deeply, disengaged the minor servos in the hinges of his jaw, and bent forward to take the tip of Impactor’s spike in his mouth. The tip was all that _fit_ in just his mouth, too. He’d have to loosen up his intake before he’d be able to fit any more. “Ohh, that’s a good mech.” Impactor moaned, shifting and reaching out with his hook to grab someone else as First Aid worked the very tip of the spike past the back of his mouth.

“Twin, get him warmed up for me wouldja?” Impactor panted, his hips jerking up into First Aid’s mouth, spike spreading his intake just a little wider.

“Su-ure.” Twin Twist moaned behind him, and First Aid obligingly raised his hips for the Wrecker. “Guys, hol-” Twin Twist cut off in anther, deeper moan as he all but fell onto First Aid, hands gripping at his hips like they were the only thing keeping him upright, spike twitching and jerking against his aft. “Hold up a nano.”

“Aww, but we just got such a good rhythm.” a mech teased, their lilt to their glyphs distinctly Vosnian.

“And you’ll get it right back.” Twin Twist assured the seeker, field pulsing pleasure as he pushed his hips back away from First Aid’s. It only took two blind thrusts for the tip of his spike to catch the inside of First Aid’s valve, and First Aid moaned as his valve stretched around each and every ridge.

“You weren’t supposed to _distract_ him.” Impactor grunted, and First Aid whimpered as a heavy forearm came to rest on the back of his helm, the bulk in front of him shifting as Impactor laid down fully. “Go on, li’l medic.” he encouraged, forearm pressing down with its full weight. “Make it good.”

Unable to nod without pulling off of Impactor’s spike, First Aid settled for bobbing his helm quickly, teasing the tip deeper into his intake as he brought a hand up to wrap around the length of Impactor’s spike not yet in his intake. Primus, his fingers barely met around the base. His callipers fluttered at the thought of taking it in his valve, how near to absolute capacity he’d be pushed, and Twin Twist moaned in his audial.

“Primus, that feels good.” he mumbled, lust-drenched field battering against First Aid’s as his hips found a rhythm. First Aid rocked with him, letting each thrust push Impactor’s spike a little further down his intake, stretch his lips a little wider around its girth, muffle his moans a little more thoroughly as more and more thick, solid spike crammed in between his lips and vocaliser. The green mech on Impactor’s fingers overloaded loudly, and First Aid’s optics fluttered shut as Impactor sat up again, dripping fingers sliding over his heated hip plating, in towards his scorching array and throbbing anterior node.

“Overload for me.” Impactor ordered, slick fingers pinching and twisting, and First Aid obeyed, his wordless cry muffled near entirely as Impactor’s hips jerked up, forcing more spike down his intake. Twin Twist’s engines revved loudly behind him, and the Wrecker ground deep, leaning on First Aid’s back.

“C’mon, you two.” he goaded- the mechs he’d picked earlier, First Aid had already forgotten their appearances. “Overload in me, make a mess.” his hips ground erratically against First Aid’s as the mechs behind him did as they were told, and still sensitive from his earlier overload First Aid couldn’t help but clamp down around the deliciously textured spike. Twin Twist bent forward over him without warning, and First Aid squirmed as strong arms locked around his chassis, pulling him upright along with Twin Twist. A thin whine left his mouth as he was pulled completely off of Impactor’s spike, and Twin Twist chuckled low in his audial, the hum of his engine reverberating in First Aid’s struts.

“You’re close again already, aren’t you?” he murmured, nipping at the edge of his audial. First Aid whimpered, and Twin Twist moved one hand to his hip to guide him up and down, the semi-spines burning streaks of charge into his valve mesh with each motion. “Aren’t you?” he repeated, and First Aid let out a wordless cry as he was dragged roughly back down onto that wonderful spike. “Beg me for it, come on.”

“Please!” he blurted, the glyph heavy with static, underlaid with submission. “Please, Twin Twi-” a sharp shout burst from his vocaliser as Twin Twist’s angle shifted, his spines dragging across new sensors. “Please, please, I need- need you to-” he trailed off in a moan as Twin Twist ground deep, industrial grade cooling fans roaring at full power.

“I hope you’ve got plenty of charge left, li’l medic.” he panted, his thrusts growing shorter and sharper. “Be a shame if we didn’t all get a turn at your pretty little valve.” he hilted himself with a grunt, and his hand around the base of First Aid’s spike pushed him over the edge with something near to a scream. Twin Twist followed a moment later, groaning low, engine roaring as he spilled deep in First Aid’s valve.

He must have bluescreened a little, because when First Aid got his optics back online it took him a moment to make sense of what he was seeing. The ceiling, but... why? His main gyro was offline, he realized belatedly, and with a low groan he set to getting his major systems back on. All around him, all he could hear were the sounds of ‘facing, scraping and clanging metal interspersed with various wet noises. To his right, three- no, four sets of fans roared, and one mech after another tripped loudly into overload.

“Shove over.” someone grunted, and First Aid turned his helm just enough to catch sight of a bulky frame rising off two spikes. Rack’n’Ruin moaned in concert as the spikes exited their valves, and golden optics fixed on First Aid as the conjoined pair shuffled over, one of their messy valves resting just above his spike, transfluid and lubricant alike dripping from it to splatter against First Aid’s pelvic plating.

“Look at you.” the one off to his right purred, hand dripping down to squeeze and stroke the spike already rubbing against his valve. “ _Still_ hard for us.”

“Told you- I could take it.” a faintly familiar voice panted, and First Aid turned his helm further to see Silkscreen sprawled next to him, legs spread and aft propped up on a pillow. Behind Rack’n’Ruin, someone else looked to be lining up for a go as the Gaean’s valve, and from the streaks of transfluid which covered his chasis and smeared between his bared breasts, it looked like Rack’n’Ruin hadn’t wasted any time.

“Optics up here, little medic.” the Wrecker above him crooned, and First Aid let a sticky hand turn his helm so his gaze met- Rack’s? He thought it was Rack over him.

“Aw, let him watch.” Probably-Ruin scoffed. “Not every day you get to watch someone ‘face a Gaean in the metal.”

First Aid opened his mouth, but before he even knew what he meant to say Rack’n’Ruin were lowering themselves onto his and Silkscreen’s spikes both. First Aid moaned as Rack’s valve calipers fluttered around his length, the Wrecker’s rim comfortably snug around his base when he bottomed out. “Ohh, you feel _nice_.” he purred, rolling hSilkscreen let out a near-musical moan as Rack’n’Ruin set a slow, almost indulgent pace.

“He sure does.” Ruin panted, and before First Aid could think on what _that_ meant the Wreckers were leaning forwards, Rack’s mouth landing wet on his neck and Ruin’s sealing around the peaked nozzle of one of Silkscreen’s breasts. First Aid’s spike throbbed at the sight, the sudden unbidden mental image of Impactor with a pair just as proportional as Silkscreen’s. On Impactor that would mean tits the size of First Aid’s helm, heavy and soft and- he overloaded with a broken wail, and Rack’n’Ruin laughed softly as they shifted, Rack to the audial on the opposite side of First Aid’s helm and Ruin to Silkscreen’s other breast, scraping his denta over the stiff, trembling nozzle there to draw a high whine and pulse of _need lust desperation_ from the curvaceous Gaean.

“Think you can manage another overload for me, little medic?” Rack rumbled in his audial, voice heavy with static, and First Aid whimpered even as he nodded. With how much charge he had coursing through his lines, he could probably overload for everyone in the pit right now.

“Shift up.” Topspin ordered, and the way Rack’n’Ruin jolted forwards it wasn’t hard to guess they’d been shoved. The pair grumbled but obliged, and First Aid shivered as the tip of a hot spike nudged at the rim of his valve, pre-fluid smearing across the swollen mesh and sparking molten lust all throughout his frame.

“Wait, why do you _have that?_ ” a shrill voice exclaimed, and First Aid twisted as much as he could manage to look and see the cause of the commotion. Impactor had the slender non-vehicular red mech perched on the first half of his spike, and the even skinnier orange Gaean who Whirl had picked from the crowd was kneeling at Impactor’s side with his optics on-

“Is that a _vibrator?_ ” First Aid asked incredulously, his vocaliser somehow finding the strength to carry clear across the pit, and Impactor _blushed_ , which was really unfairly adorable from a mech so slaggin hot and commanding.

“A Wrecker keeps his word.” he mumbled, and Whirl cackled from somewhere beyond First Aid’s field of vision.

“Damn right you do!” he called, and Topspin laughed along with the rest of the Wreckers as he started rutting his spike into First Aid’s valve, one ridge at a time. Despite the increasing volume of Ruin going at Silkscreen’s breasts, and Silkscreen’s own heightening cries of pleasure, First Aid couldn’t quite manage to tear his optics from Impactor and the orange Gaean, who was now holding onto Impactor’s upper arm and rutting against the top of the false spike attached where Impactor’s hook usually went. From how he trembled, it must’ve been vibrating, and First Aid whimpered at the thought of that in his valve, stretching him open, getting him ready for the spike the red mech in Impactor’s lap couldn’t seem to handle.

“Hey Impactor.” Topspin called, getting the mech’s attention as he worked another ridge into First Aid’s valve, finally starting to meet enough resistance to generate proper friction at his rim. “I think the medic wants a ride on your hook-spike.”

“He’ll get his turn.” Impactor promised, optics meeting First Aid’s as a roguish smile flickered across his handsome face. First Aid’s spark fairly seized in its casing, his own fuel pump all he could hear in his audials as he watched the orange Gaean start working himself down onto the vibrating false spike.

He was so distracted watching Impactor, Rack’n’Ruin’s overload caught him completely by surprise, the sudden vicelike clamp of their valve around his spike throwing him over the edge as well. Topspin’s engine roared, and he slammed his hips forward hard enough the lumpy ridge at the base of his spike ground firmly against First Aid’s anterior node, rocketing him into another overload even as Rack’n’Ruin lifted off of him. He wailed as Topspin continued pounding into him, arching up into the stimulation, and let out a soft noise of dismay when Topspin abruptly went still only halfway into his valve.

“You, prettymech.” he rasped, leaning over and grabbing Silkscreen. “On his face.”

Wait, what? First Aid cycled his audials, but the input didn’t change.

“But-”

“I wanna see him eat out that messy, messy valve of yours.” Topspin purred. “And you can give me a show, while he’s at it.”

Silkscreen’s field flickered with uncertainty, and Topspin huffed hot air from his vents with a flare of exasperation. “Look, he gives you an overload, I overload in him and take him with me. Sound fair enough to you?”

“Are you alright with it?” Silkscreen asked, and it took a long, _long_ nanocycle for First Aid to realize the question had been directed at him.

“Yeah.” he said, though the glyph came out slurred with static. “Lemme-” his charge-fogged processor couldn’t find the words, so he turned his helm away from Impactor and met Silkscreen’s optics as he opened his mouth and stuck his glossa out as far as it’d go.

“See? He’s eager for it, kinky li’l fragger.” Topspin laughed, and Silkscreen settled almost delicately astride his face. “Now, the medic’s gonna eat you out however he does best, and you’re gonna do _exactly_ what I tell you, alright?”

“Alright.” Silkscreen nagreed, and First Aid shuttered his optics to keep them clear of fluids as he gave a testing swipe around the rim of Silkscreen’s valve, drawing a low moan from the mech.

“Good, good.” Topspin rocked his hips gently into First Aid’s, slowly fragging his spike deeper again. “Cup your breasts for me, that’s a good mech. Run your thumbs over the nozzles.”

Silkscreen moaned again, and First Aid’s whole frame throbbed at the mental image of what was happening just out of sight. He swept his glossa over Silkscreen’s rim again, tilting his chin down slightly to flick it against the Gaean’s anterior node. Above him, silkscreen made the most musical sound, so he repeated the action before plunging his glossa into Silkscreen’s valve. He tasted more of transfluid than lubricant, even though First Aid could feel said lubricant smearing all over the lower half of his face, getting into seams that he would hate cleaning it out of in the morning but that was a concern for tomorrow’s First Aid.

“Pinch your nozzles for me.” Topspin ordered, and Silkscreen’s calipers seized down on First Aid’s glossa as he obeyed, whimpering as his field flared with need. “Now roll them, yeah, just like that.” his hips jumped against First Aid’s, making him gasp as that glorious spike sunk two ridges deeper into his valve, only to immediately pull those same two ridges back out, igniting every node they scraped over in a burning haze of pleasure.

“Tug on them now for me.” Topspin demanded, his glyphs thick with naked lust and heavy with static. Silkscreen moaned wantonly, hips gyrating against First Aid’s face as he undoubtedly obeyed, and First Aid probed the forward edge of the Gaean’s valve wall. Colony-forged mechs and homeworld Cybertronians weren’t put together _that_ different, and if he was at the right depth- Silkscreen outright wailed when First Aid’s glossa found the sweet spot where the mech’s interfacing valve butted up against his transfluid tank release valve, and with two more deliberate prods to that sensitive spot he was rewarded with a gush of lubricant that drenched his whole face, Silkscreen moaning at the top of his vocal range as he rode First Aid’s glossa, undoubtedly still tugging at his nozzles as Topspin let loose and began to properly pound into First Aid.

As sensitive as he was from his past few partners, it didn’t take long for him to overload, And Topspin’s engine roared for him as he thrust violently once, twice, and overloaded deep enough inside First Aid’s valve he splashed his ceiling node with hot, charged transfluid. Between that and the drag of his spike’s ridges over sensitized nodes as he pulled out to finish overloading on First Aid’s abdominal armour, First Aid found himself climaxing again, the charge surge scrambling what few bits of his processor had still been somewhere near rational.

“Frag, that was good.” Topspin moaned, and fell backwards with a thump. Silkscreen collapsed sideways, and when First Aid remembered to online his optics he was face to spike with one of the Wreckers he hadn’t serviced yet.

“Hey there, protoface.” Whirl cooed, sitting himself down with his knees pointed as far out to the side as they’d go and clamping his claws around First Aid’s shoulders. “Think you and funbags over there could give my favourite gun some attention?” he thrust his hips, and First Aid couldn’t help but giggle.

“ _Gun_.”

“You’d be surprised.” Whirl grinned, a whole-frame thing since he lacked a mouth, and his claws bumped against First Aid’s side. “C’mon, budge over.”

“I wonder how quickly we can make you overload.” Silkscreen mused, scooting over to Whirl’s other side.

“Well, you’re gonna find out.” Whirl leaned back on his elbows, and First Aid looked at Silkscreen, now lying stretched out perpendicular to Whirl’s legs.

“Just follow my lead.” Silkscreen winked, and First Aid nodded. Silkscreen leaned in, and First Aid watched as the Gaean pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Whirl’s spike. He pulled back to flick his glossa out, trailing it along the underside, and First Aid trembled slightly as he leaned in to do the same. Primus, he hoped he would get Whirl’s spike in his valve after this. It tastes like interface, when he got his mouth on the hot metal; transfluid and lubricant and the sharp tang of ozone from too-hot circuitry. He moaned softly, involuntarily, and Whirl shifted to rest a heavy claw on the back of his helm.

“Just like that.” he purred, sitting up and resting his other claw on Silkscreen’s helm. “You two make such a pretty picture.” his spike twitched, and Silkscreen’s glossa brushed First Aid’s lower lip when it swiped under Whirl’s spike again. “Get up towards the tip, wouldja?”

First Aid’s reflex was to shuffle right over, but Silkscreen had said to follow his lead, and the Gaean was moving along slowly, leaving a shiny trail of oral lubricant along the side of Whirl’s spike. First Aid kept pace with him, turning his own glossa to the task of licking tacky half-dried fluids off of Whirl’s impressive spike, relishing the subtle texture which would surely feel far less subtle against his valve lining.

Silkscreen’s lips met his without warning, Whirl’s spike caught between them, and after a split nanocycle of confusion First Aid melted into the contact, sliding his glossa against Silkscreen’s around Whirl’s spike. The Wrecker’s field poured unbridled lust over both of them, and it took everything First Aid had not to rut against the floor. They undoubtedly looked like something straight out of a porno. A Gaean, a nurse, and an empuratee was a selection that definitely appealed to at least a few mechs.

“Slag, you two are so hot.” Whirl panted, thrusting his hips and breaking the seal of their lips around his spike. “Funbags, on your back. Tits together.” he ordered, turning towards Silkscreen with the clearest predatory leer First Aid had ever seen on a faceless mech.

“And me?” he asked, array throbbing in time with the pounding of his fuel pump, spark spinning so fast it felt it might burst right out of his chest.

“You’re with me.”

Impactor’s voice _carried_ , even over the sounds of interface coming from the few other Wreckers still going, and First Aid nearly overloaded on the spot, fresh lubricant drenching his thighs. “Yes, Sir.” he said breathlessly, scrambling over to the Wreckers’ leader.

“On your front.” Impactor ordered, and First Aid obeyed, raising his hips to present himself properly, his calipers fluttering in anticipation. “The others did a good job on you.” Impactor mused, hooking his thumb just inside the rim of First Aid’s valve and pulling sideways. First Aid imagined he could feel that heavy gaze on his inner nodes, all the way up to the ceiling of his valve. “But I think I’ll work you a _little_ more.”

“I thought- you didn’t do anything just a little.” First Aid gasped, and Impactor snorted.

“That’s when the job hasn’t been done for me already.” Impactor leaned back, and First Aid’s optics flew as wide as they could go as the distinct sound of a spike sliding into a very, _very_ wet valve. “All I have to do is finish up.” Impactor withdrew the false spike from his own valve, and First Aid moaned when the hot, wet silicone slid into him. “And you know us, medic.” Impactor’s voice dropped half an octave, resonating with the purr of his engine to vibrate all the way up through First Aid’s frame. “You know me. What’s my speciality?”

“You-” First Aid gasped, his vocaliser spitting high, sharp static as Impactor began to lean into him, the false spike spreading him open as it neared the hilt. Primus, he hoped he was near the hilt. “You finish things!” his voice shot up at the end, a wail ripped from his vocaliser as the thickest part of the false spike popped into his valve, the rim burning and tender where it clenched around the thinner piece connecting the spike to Impactor’s wrist.

“Exactly.” Impactor’s fingers brushed over First Aid’s rim. “Now, do you think you can hold off on overloading?” he asked, turning the vibrator in the false spike onto a low setting. First Aid nodded frantically, wishing he’d thought to bring a charge inhibitor. “Good mech.” Impactor rumbled, his hand leaving First Aid’s rim and stroking up his side, groping bits of kibble until a finger in his wheel well made First Aid moan. Impactor’s hand seized around his tire, and First Aid choked on a scream as he was pulled back onto Impactor’s false spike, the vibrator pressing so close to his ceiling node he could _taste_ the charge.

“Keep your optics online.” Impactor ordered, curling over his back as he worked the false spike in First Aid’s valve with slow, steady motions. “When Whirl overloads, you can too.”

“That ain’t gonna take long.” Whirl quipped, and when First Aid managed to focus his optics properly he whimpered at the sight which greeted him. Silkscreen had his breasts pressed together, his emerald optics sharp with hunger as Whirl’s spike plunged into the tight space between his breasts over and over.

“When you overload in _him_.” Impactor clarified, and First Aid’s vocaliser spat a long burst of static as he frantically redirected the charge surge away from his array. Primus, he was so close. How was he supposed to not overload, watching Whirl frag Silkscreen while Impactor’s vibrating false spike was buried so deep in his valve it pressed against the ceiling?

“That’s a good mech.” Impactor rumbled, and First Aid let out a thin whine as his helm dropped between his arms. “Hey, optics on Whirl, remember?”

“I-” his vocaliser crackled, snapping off as Impactor brushed his ceiling node again.

“I know you can do it.” Impactor purred his engine, the vibration spreading all through First Aid’s frame in harmony with the pulsing of the false spike inside him. “Just a few milicycles. You can hold on that long, yeah?” his hand left First Aid’s wheel, lifting his chin to point his optics as Whirl. “He’s a quick shot, but his refractory period is practically non-existent.” Impactor nudged the false spike a little deeper, the vibrations growing more intense, and First Aid couldn’t even wail, his vocaliser was so thoroughly offlined.

Somehow, he still hadn’t overloaded when Whirl appeared in front of him, and the pulse of _approval anticipation pride_ in Impactor’s feld nearly pushed him over the edge. His audials must’ve been shorted out by one of his overload-avoidance redirects, because he couldn’t hear a word of what Impactor and Whirl said to each other, or why he was being lifted up so his back pressed against Impactor’s chest, or what Whirl said when he leaned in so close one of the prongs around his optic casing rubbed against First Aid’s audial. Whirl pulled back, optic narrowing, and a moment later First Aid reeled as his hearing returned with a sharp burst of pain and flare of amber damage alert popups on his HUD.

“Can you hear me now?” Whirl demanded, and First Aid nodded, swaying slightly in Impactor’s hold, hands coming up to grip the arm pressed against his chest. “Good. Now- Ah, slag, it feels weird to say it again.”

Impactor chuckled, the vibration of it sinking deep into First Aid’s frame. His optics flicked past Whirl, and his valve clamped down on the false spike inside it at the sight of Roadbuster and Twin Twist fragging a very enthusiastic Silkscreen from both ends. Impactor noticed, of course, and First Aid could feel his smirk as he twisted the false spike on his next thrust. “What, wish that were you?” he asked, and First Aid nodded shakily. “If Roadbuster’s got anything left in him after, I’ll call him on over.” Impactor nuzzled against his undamaged audial, the contact sending charge shooting down First Aid’s spinal strut. “Whirl, get on with it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Whirl huffed, claws hooking under First Aid’s thighs and urging them wider as the tip of his spike nudged the taut rim of First Aid’s valve. “Primus, Pacty, are you sure I’m gonna _fit_? ”

“If you don’t, I won’t.” Impactor reasoned. “And our little medic here was _so_ determined to take my spike.”

First Aid opened his mouth to say he could do it, but the only noise which left him was a static whine. He dropped a hand from Impactor’s forearm, and his vocaliser shorted out fully as he pressed two fingers in alongside the false spike. He didn’t have the strength to stretch himself more than just a little bit, but the needy pulse of his field at Whirl must’ve been coherent enough to make up for his lack of words. “Determined is right.” the rotary synthesized a whistle, the tip of his spike nudging between First Aid’s knuckles and into the space he’d made between his fingers. “Frag, you feel good.” Whirl moaned as he began to push in in earnest, and overload ht First Aid so hard and fast he couldn’t even think of fighting it.

Impactor’s false spike jumped up several levels of vibrational intensity, and as First Aid writhed and poured static laced with incoherent glyphs from his rebooting vocaliser Whirl somehow sank himself in all the way to the hilt. Whirl’s overload pushed him into another, and another, and First Aid sobbed as his spike twitched dry, transfluid tanks clenching painfully in an attempt to push out fluid which wasn’t there.

“Hold it.” Impactor ordered, and Whirl paused halfway hilted in First Aid, optic overbright and frame trembling. “You need to tap out, medic?”

It took First Aid a long moment to realize the question was directed at him, and he forced his vocaliser to reboot again as he shook his helm desperately. “No. No, I want-” his calipers cycled down on the spikes inside him, hips rocking into the pressure and vibration. “Wanna take your spike. Please, _please_ frag me. I’m ready, I want- I _need_ -” his vocaliser cut off in a high blurt of static as Whirl’s hips drove up against his, hot, charged transfluid painting the inside of his valve before the mech pulled out and flopped dramatically sideways, making Impactor’s field flicker with amused fondness.

“You ready?” Impactor purred, hand shifting down to hold him firmly by the hip as the false spike withdrew from his valve. First Aid nodded, trembling as he felt the tip of Impactor’s spike nudge his entrance. The hand on his hip tightened, and First Aid’s vocaliser shorted out once more when he was dragged harshly down, Impactor’s spike filling him utterly, the friction and snaps of charge between his internal nodes and the receptors on Impactor’s spike rocketing him into another overload. And the charge crashing through him didn’t _stop_ , only intensified as Impactor bounced First Aid on his spike, fragging up into him without restraint.

A fresh surge of charge shorted out his optics, and First Aid didn’t even care. It felt like the entirety of his processor was devoted to parsing the flood of input from his valve, every square micrometer of mesh flooding his neural net with friction and ecstasy. Impactor’s hips met his aft, and Fist Aid sobbed, the sound ragged with static. “Please.” he choked out, the glyph barely audible through all the static in his voice. “Please, Impact- ah!” he let out a sharp cry as Impactor moved again, rolling his powerful hips to scrape the head of his spike against First Aid’s ceiling node. His optics flashed back online so hot they were surely white, and as he started to come down Impactor lifted him by the hip and dragged him back down hard, slamming deep enough he struck First Aid’s ceiling node a second time.

“Primus, you’re a rare one.” Impactor grunted, increasing his pace and continuing to strike First Aid’s ceiling node. “How many- mods?” he pulled First Aid down so their arrays, met and ground deep, his low moan in First Aid’s audial shivering through his struts and coiling in the pits of his tanks, resonating with the charge already rolling through his frame. “How badly did you want this?” he asked, and First Aid overloaded again with a sob. Impactor followed a moment later, and the flood of hot, charged transfluid in his valve catapulted First Aid into yet another climax.

He collapsed on his front when Impactor pulled out, groaning weakly into the padded floor as his frame twitched and valve spasmed with the force of his final overload. Transfluid oozed past his rim with each spasm, and more spattered across his aft and up the small of his back as Impactor jerked himself through the dregs of his own overload.

“Damn, I wanted a turn with that one.” someone complained, and after a bleary moment First Aid identified the voice as Roadbuster. Roadbuster, who he’d not yet serviced at all tonight. That wasn’t fair, wasn’t right. It was a tremendous effort of will, but First Aid pushed himself to his hands and knees, turning around to present his valve to Roadbuster. His field flickered as he pressed it outward, _lust eagerness invitation_ shivering through it as he tilted his hips, displaying himself as best he could.

“You really are something.” Impactor chuckled, hooking a finger under First Aid’s chin to tilt it up until their optics met. “Bet you’d like to help me clean up too, wouldn’t you?” he shifted, the tip of his half-pressurised spike brushing First Aid’s lips. First Aid nodded as much as he could with Impactor’s hand still cupping his chin, but before he could begin strong hands closed around his hips and dragged him directly onto a spike even thicker than Impactor’s but notably shorter. Static spilled from First Aid’s vocaliser as he felt the calipers in his rim pop and jam, the mesh stretched so taut it threatened to tear as Roadbuster began to rock into him.

His optics flickered as Impactor’s hand lifted his chest from the floor to rest on thick, folded legs, his cheek pressed against the upper edge of a thigh armour panel. Impactor’s spike bobbed before him, glistening with transfluid and lubricant both, and he opened his mouth to lick it. Impactor helped, holding him steady against Roadbuster’s deep, powerful thrusts as he worked his way up that thick, messy spike.

“C’mon, c’mon.” Roadbuster panted behind him, his thrusts coming harder and faster as First Aid took the tip of Impactor’s spike in his mouth. Instead of guiding him down the other side of his spike though, Impactor removed his hand from First Aid completely, letting Roadbuster’s next thrust rock him forwards, Impator’s spike filling his mouth once more. He moaned around it, relaxing his intake to let Roadbuster’s frantic thrusts rock it down his throat, and Impactor’s hand on the back of his helm felt like a lightning strike, charge rushing through his systems, leaving him trembling on the edge of overload.

“Not every day we get to spend time with such- dedicated fans.” Impactor panted, his voice pitched low enough First Aid barely heard it over the clang of Roadbuster’s hips against his aft. Mere moments later Roadbuster hilted in him with a roar and overloaded, pushing First Aid over the edge as well. Impactor followed a moment later, and tight on the back of First Aid’s helm as he fragged his spike down First Aid’s intake with a long, indulgent moan.

Roadbuster pulled out, collapsing next to him, and First Aid let Impactor mechhandle him vaguely upright. One hand instinctively moved to his valve, the rim hot and sensitive, and he shivered at the feel of transfluid dripping over his fingers. Impactor chuckled, and First Aid found himself slumped against the Wrecker’s side. “I think.” Impactor purred, hand rubbing up and down First Aid’s back. “That you and that gaean are both getting invites to our _private_ after-con party.”

First Aid smiled, optics slowly powering down as he relaxed into Impactor’s side. Best purchase **ever**.


	2. The Afterparty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a wonderful fan who requested to remain anonymous. I had a lot of fun with this one!

First Aid was very, _very_ glad that he’d taken half a deca-cycle off for Wreck Con. His array was still achingly tender nearly two whole cycles after the fact, though that might have been in part due to how he could barely keep his panels closed in the privacy of his own hab. Apparently, getting your processor fragged out for a few decicycles straight could slag your charge regulators, and his had been knocked practically offline. It probably didn’t help matters that after being pounded by Impactor and Roadbuster, only the largest of his toys could get him to overload without focused attention to his node.

He was actually riding said false spike when he got the comm from Impactor. A time, the address of a hotel with a room number attached, a string of numbers which could only be a door code, and ::Same rules as last time.:: A bolt of eager anticipation shot down his spinal strut like lightning, straight to his valve, and he overloaded with a low whine. Frag, how was he _more_ revved up now?

He bit back a whimper as he lifted himself off the false spike, charge still shivering along the underside of his armour, valve calipers fluttering weakly and lubricant dripping from the energon-swollen mesh at his rim. It took a bit of effort to kick his logic centers back into full gear and tamp down the urge to just drop himself back on the false spike and ride it to his satisfaction, but he managed somehow. No matter how good it might feel to burn all his charge self-servicing, it would feel so much better to save it up for later.

Later which, as he used a medical override to depressurise his spike, he realized wasn’t actually too far off. He had to wash up, polish himself, drive all the way there... Primus, he should’ve just gotten a hotel room by the convention center. His legs trembled as he swung them off the edge of his berth, shaking when he stood, but he was able to shut his panels without collapsing into a puddle of lust so that was good. Cool solvent soothed his systems, and the motions of applying polish after he finished drying off were pure motor memory, the sensation barely registering. If he’d thought ahead he might have splurged on a professional detailing, but as it stood he barely had time for a thorough polish if he wanted to beat traffic.

He really, really hoped he wouldn’t leak through his panel seams on the way there. That would just be _embarrassing_.

\-----

The hotel room was, unsurprisingly, on one of the top floors of the building, where the hallway was easily five times First Aid’s height and ended in a wide balcony, framed by colourful stained glass. The door opened when he punched in the code he’d been commed, and First Aid’s valve cycled down painfully on nothing at the sight which greeted him. Not only were all the Wreckers from the convention there, but ex-members as well, Pyro and Sandstorm and Broadside lounging on the large, low berth. And most of them were already going at it, too. First Aid recognized the green and yellow triple changer from the convention currently enthusiastically sucking Whirl’s spike, but no others.

“There he is!” Impactor rose from the mess of frames on the berth, striding over to clap his hand on First Aid’s shoulder. “This is the medic I was talking about.”

“Doesn’t look like much to me.” Broadside grumbled.

“Well you don’t have to frag him.” Impactor huffed, turning to face the berth again and pulling First Aid to his side, Impactor’s heavy arm settling across his shoulders with the motion. “More for me.” his field pulsed warm around First Aid, lustful and eager, and First Aid let his own field relax from where he’d kept it furled tight on the way over. Impactor’s arm stayed around him all the way to the berth, only moving to hold him by the hip when he got to his knees on the thick, luxurious padding.

“Open up for me.” Impactor ordered, rapping a knuckle against First Aid’s modesty panel. The protective plates parted immediately, and First Aid bit back an embarrassed whine as lubricant splashed down onto the berth, fresh heat flushing his array. “Frag, you’re wet.” Impactor chuckled, easily sliding two, then three fingers into First Aid’s quivering valve. “Were you ‘servin when you got my comm?” he purred, working a fourth finger in and spreading them, stretching First Aid’s’ already-loose valve.

“Ye-” his vocaliser glitched out in a burst of static, and still crackled with it even after a quick reboot. “Yes, Sir.”

“Sir?” Broadside raised an optic ridge. Impactor shrugged.

“Bet I could frag you the rest of the way open.” Impactor mused, sinking his fingers in as far as they’d go and pressing on whatever nodes he could reach. “You like it rough, right?

“Nobody comes- to the Wreckers- for _gentle_.” First Aid grunted, rocking his hips up into the motion of Impactor’s fingers. Already his fans were running full blast, vents wide open, his whole frame molten hot inside no matter how much heat pumped out of him.

“Kid’s got a point.” Pyro chipped in as he lifted his helm from between his partner’s legs, diving back down to elicit a bleat of static and grinding engine rev before Impactor could chastise him.

“This’ll hurt.” Impactor warned, and First Aid whined softly as the tip of Impactor’s spike pressed against his valve, hot and thick and perfect. It sank to the hilt in him with a single thrust, calipers and mesh alike stinging from the sudden stretch, and First Aid dropped his helm onto his folded arms with a moan. Frag, his toys back home had _nothing_ on Impactor’s spike. The weight of it, the living heat, no toy he’d ever be able to afford would be able to measure up. “You good?” Impactor asked, and First Aid nodded.

“You got anything behind that mask?” Broadside asked as Impactor began to work his hips against First Aid’s, building the embers of his earlier charge quickly back into a raging inferno. First Aid transformed his mask away, and moaned as a huge hand lifted his helm by the chin, a thick thumb pressing between his lips. He sucked on it obediently, dipping his glossa into the knuckle seam and letting his denta rest against the scuffed and pitted plating. Broadside’s polish tasted like salt and hot oil, strange and slightly tingly on his glossa, but not unpleasant by any means.

“You’ll do, I guess.” Broadside huffed, and opened his panels. His spike was easily half again as big as Impactor’s, far beyond First Aid’s maximum capacity, but... it was tapered, and the length that would fit in his valve was _just_ the right girth to fill him up. Impactor struck his ceiling node, and First Aid cried out as he overloaded, the sound quickly muffled by Broadside’s spike sliding into his open mouth. He disengaged his jaw servos, letting it hang limp as Impactor fragged him through his overload, thrusts growing sharper and more erratic as he approached his own climax.

First Aid shifted his weight to one hand, but before he could reach down to pinch his node and rev himself up for a second overload timed to Impactor’s a large, heavy hand caught his forearm. Primus, Broadside’s hand wrapped around his _entire_ forearm with room to spare, thumb overlapping his fingers. Impactor hilted himself with a roar as he overloaded, and First Aid went with him, the taste of salt and hot oil filling his mouth completely as Broadside began to press forwards, down his intake.

Impactor pulled out of him with a low grumble of his engine, and First Aid’s valve instinctively tried to clench shut at the entrance, a futile effort driven by outdated code. “Toldja you’d like him.” Impactor laughed, slapping First Aid’s hip. “Give me and Roadbuster a few rounds and I bet he’ll take you just fine.”

Broadside thrust lazily into his mouth again, down his intake, the hand around First Aid’s forearm guiding it up until his fingers brushed his distended intake tubing. He moaned, more transfluid dribbling out down his thighs as his valve clenched needily, and only barely stopped himself from whining pathetically when Broadside pulled out. “I still think we should’ve waited for Astro to get back before doing this again.”

“Hey, the convention dates aren’t my choice.” Impactor huffed. First Aid got the distinct impression this was an argument they’d had before. “Now do you want to keep trying to break his vocaliser, or do you wanna watch us wreck him for you?”

“I can take it.” First Aid forced out past his hanging jaw, his subglyphs pure static. Broadside’s field flickered with curiosity, and First Aid craned his helm back to meet the triple changer’s optics, re-engaging his jaw servos to keep it from dangling weirdly. “Your spike, I can take it right now. My valve’s not deep enough for the whole thing, but-”

Broadside’s engine revved, a deep thrum that resonated in First Aid’s struts, and Impactor chuckled. “Alright, then.” he patted First Aid gently on the hip. “I’ll share with Whirl, you two have fun.”

“Actually, you can have him.” Whirl interjected, gesturing at the triple-changer rutting the berth while mouthing at his spike. “I’m gonna join Topsy.”

“Well then.” Impactor grinned, and First Aid’s calipers cycled down on nothing again, splashing his legs and the berth with more mixed transfluid and lubricant. “Hey Aid, how would you feel about returning the favour, since Whirl can’t?”

First Aid nearly overloaded again just hearing Impactor say his name like that, tagged with subglyphs of casual affection. “I’d be happy to.” he blurted, pushing up to kneel with his aft on his heels. “But what about-”

“Well, Springer here clearly knows how to use his mouth.” Impactor grinned, beckoning the green mech over. First Aid hadn’t actually gotten a look at his face before, but Springer was rather handsome. A good solid frame, square jaw, thick, heavy spike bobbing between his legs as he shuffled over on his knees. A bit more roughing up and he could pass for a Wrecker himself, he certainly had the altmodes for it. “On your back, mech.” Impactor ordered, and Springer complied, laying down with his legs spread. Pre-fluid dribbled from the tip of his spike, and First Aid leaned forward to lick it up.

“Oh, Primus!” Springer’s hips bucked up, his spike jabbing under First Aid’s visor and leaving a smear of pre-fluid in its wake. Impactor chuckled, and leaned over to pin Springer’s hips with his hand.

“You can overload once Aid here has you in his mouth.” Impactor promised, catching First Aid's optic and winking.

“Please, please.” Springer whined, fans clicking as they tried and failed to kick up past redline. First Aid pressed a kiss to the base of Springer's spike, wet and open-mouthed, glossa swiping over the hot, smooth metal to taste the pre-fluid smeared over it.

“You're delicious.” he purred, working his way up Springer’s spike as Broadside shifted to sit behind him, hands heavy on his hips.

“And pretty, too.” Impactor’s engine revved, and First Aid’s optics flicked up to see the Wrecker leader with two fingers in Springer’s mouth. “I just might keep your number, after this.”

First Aid felt a brief flare of jealousy, but it only lasted a moment before Broadside’s thumbs sank into his valve, spreading his entrance impossibly wide. He moaned shamelessly, taking Springer’s spike to the hilt in a single smooth motion, and the hot spill of transfluid down his intake was automatic. He drank it down, optics fluttering shut as the tip of Broadside’s spike rubbed at his valve rim.

“You’re okay with any kind of dirty talk, right?” Broadside murmured, curling over him to whisper in his audial. Unable to nod or speak with Springer’s half-pressurised spike still in his mouth, First Aid pushed a deliberate flare of assent into his field and blipped his comms affirmative on an open frequency. He might not personally get off on whatever Broadside liked, but between the two triple-changers spikes in him he was sure he wouldn’t need any verbal encouragement to overload himself to bluescreen. Broadside pulsed acknowledgement back at him, and began to move.

“Optics off the medic.” Impactor ordered, gripping Springer’s helm and pulling it down flat on the berth. “You make me overload well enough with that glossa of yours, and I’ll give you the spike you’re craving.”

“Yessir.” Springer mumbled, breathless and dazed. Impactor lowered himself onto Springer’s face, and First Aid shuttered his optics to focus on sucking the spike in his mouth back to full pressure. It was hardly an essay task, with Broadside’s spike pressing slowly, inexorably deeper into his valve.

“That’s it.” Broadside purred, rolling his hips and tapping the tip of his spike against the end of First Aid’s valve. “You love taking my spike, don’t you?” one of Broadside’s huge hands left his hips to press against his abdominal armour, thumb brushing over the seam where his lowest ventral plate met his pelvic assembly. “So big you can barely handle it.”

First Aid’s engine purred, Broadside’s voice washing over him as that wonderful spike kept rocking into the roof of his valve, a jolt of pleasure to end each rolling wave of charge. He sucked absently on Springer’s spike, letting it muffle his moans as Broadside began to pick up his pace, ramming his spike into First Aid’s ceiling over and over, only rarely striking the node cluster there. “Come on, Aid.” Broadside grunted, each thrust rocking his whole frame, nudging Springer’s spike into his intake proper. “You want more right?”

First Aid pulsed a desperate affirmative through his field, and Broadside’s powerful engine roared. “Then open up.” he ordered, ramming his spike as deep as it’d go and pressing with all of his considerable strength. Something gave, and First Aid overloaded harder than he had even for Impactor at the convention as Broadside sank impossibly deeper, the girth of his spike pushing First Aid’s valve so wide it sent alerts flashing across his HUD. He dismissed the loud yellow popups, letting his focus narrow down to the spikes spearing him from either end.

“Feels so good.” Broadside moaned, fragging First Aid in earnest now, every thrust forcing the aperture inside him to stretch wider. “Gonna fill you up, frag you so full.”

“Go on.” Impactor gasped, reaching out to grab the back of First Aid’s helm and push him down onto Springer’s spike. “Overload.”

Broadside did, and First Aid nearly choked at the sensation. Broadside’s spike had breached his _gestation_ port, and now the triple-changer’s transfluid was spraying hot and charged directly into his tank. He wailed around Springer’s spike, struggling to buck against the hand on his hip and meet Broadside’s thrusts, throwing his field wide open to broadcast how much he wanted Broadside to keep going.

“Oh you _like_ that.” Broadside rumbled, thrusting harder still, close enough to being hilted that First Aid could feel the heat radiating from his pelvic array, close enough that the yellow warnings on his glitching HUD were rapidly turning red. “I bet I could pump you full to bursting, li’l medic. Buckle your armour, make you look halfway to emergence.”

::Please:: First Aid threw out into his last used comm channel, clawing at Springer’s hips to ground himself. Primus, he could picture it, his armour plates bent around a swollen tank, cables taut, Broadside’s warm hand massaging the gaps. He overloaded hard enough to short out his HUD entirely, calipers clamping down where they could, and as Springer overloaded Broadside’s hand shifted up to his chest, pulling him up off the green mech’s spike. Transfluid splattered across his face, but he couldn’t have cared less.

His hips ached, trying to straddled Broadside’s thighs, but with the new angle their arrays finally met, sending fresh charge surging through First Aid’s frame. The purr of Broadside’s engine against his back seemed to heighten every sensation, and First Aid didn’t even pretend to have the spare processor power to muffle himself. He let his jaw hang open, senseless sounds of pure need spilling from his vocaliser with each rolling thrust Broadside made up into his valve. Every byte of his processor was focused on the sensations in his valve and tank, leaving every thin whimper and trembling moan to slip from his lips as Broadside used him as he might use a spike sleeve. A high, desperate keen escaped him when Broadside overloaded again, and again, and again, each burst of transfluid hotter and heavier than the last.

The calipers near his entrance had long since given up, but still his gestation port cinched tight to every motion of Broadside’s spike, not a drop of transfluid escaping. Good, some primal part of him purred. Full was good, keep every last bit from such a strong, capable mate. A thick finger pressed to his node, hot and throbbing after so many overloads he’d well and truly lost count, and he came again with a wail, jelly-strutted legs struggling to lift hi frame to frag himself on Broadside’s spike. “Please.” he gasped, arching blindly into Broadside’s hands as his optics shorted out again. “ _Please_.”

“Needy little thing.” Broadside chuckled, but his spike still hadn’t depressurized. “Perhaps I’ll have to give you my comm code, after this. Or maybe Astro’s.” he mused, petting the undeniable swell of First Aid’s middle, rocking gently up into him as his cooling fans screamed. “You’d look so pretty, stuffed full of shuttle eggs.”

First Aid overloaded again, collapsing back against Broadside with a burst of static as his vocaliser cut out. He didn’t bother to reset it.

“You good?” Broadside asked. First aid managed to nod. “Still want more?” another nod.

“You can frag him right into stasis and he’ll keep asking for more.” Impactor laughed, low and sexy. “Go all out and you might even make him bluescreen.”

“Is that so?” Broadside chuckled, drumming his fingers gently on the hot, heavy curve of First Aid’s stuffed tank. “Do you want that, little medic? Want to be properly Wrecked?”

First aid nodded eagerly, then immediately whined as Broadside pulled out of his valve entirely, his port tank irising shut. A moment later he was laid on his back, and Broadside’s spike speared into him with a thrust so powerful First Aid overloaded as it breached his tank again. Broadside held his hips tightly, keeping them up off the berth as he drew out again, then repeated his piercing thrust. And repeated it, and repeated it, again and again and again, until First Aid’s vocaliser could only emit a high screech of binary and every part of him was swamped with ecstasy.

“You’d be so lovely sparked.” Broadside purred, and First’ Aid’s world dissolved into pure ecstasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i now ship Astrotrain/Broadside/First Aid. How does this keep happening.

**Author's Note:**

> Why are the Wreckers famous enough to have their own convention? Fuck if I know.
> 
> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you as this was written for SirenSong) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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